


Like thread through a needle

by trailsofpaper (Sanwall)



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War II, Espionage, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 12:51:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18829024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanwall/pseuds/trailsofpaper
Summary: Then again, Lovett thought as he looked from the sample clothing to the version he was making up to fit Tommy’s measurements, there was something to be said for the time when his work wasn’t a matter of life and death.





	Like thread through a needle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nahco3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nahco3/gifts).



**i.**

* * *

Sometimes, when he was thinking, Lovett rubbed the pads of his fingers together. The calluses were familiar, almost worn, by over a decade of steady work. It used to give him a sense of satisfaction and purpose, being a hard worker, before it transmuted into feeling trapped.

The thing was, he was good at what he did. He had an eye for detail and an instinct for what looked right, but it was hard to feel like you made a difference when all you did was fix clothes for other people.

Then again, he thought as he looked from the sample clothing to the version he was making up to fit Tommy’s measurements, there was something to be said for the time when his work wasn’t a matter of life and death.

“France, huh?” Lovett said, just to fill the silence as he checked the stitch on the buttons in Tommy’s jacket. He had never known anyone to hold a silence like Tommy. “They say what you’re supposed to do over there?”

“You know I can’t tell you,” Tommy said, but he said it fondly, like he was grateful for Lovett’s talking. Even in this cramped corner of the workshop, he stood straight, shoulders held back, and absolutely still. Every tailor’s dream.

“Oh, so you think the Krauts are going to swim over the Channel and sniff out the one American Jew working for the SOE and make him snitch?” Lovett said and looked at the hem of his pants - trousers, as they said over here - and plucked a handful of pins from the pin cushion and bent down to bring them up half an inch.

“I don’t think they’d get anything out of you,” Tommy said and shifted, setting his legs further apart, when Lovett nudged at him. “Or, at least, they won’t get anything useful.”

“Better not rile me up,” Lovett warned and stuck the leftover pins in between his teeth while he kept talking. “I need to take your measurements, and you can’t go fight for Uncle Sam with a needle in the wrong place.”

“I thought you took measurements with a ruler,” Tommy said, mildly.

“Don’t get smart with me, Mister Secret Agent!” Lovett said as he kneeled. “Save it for the Europeans, won’t you?”

Lovett was a professional and his touch was to-the-point and efficient. He’d never even thought about letting it linger, and yet, with Tommy falling quiet, the silence became charged as Lovett pulled up the measuring tape and flattened it to the inside of his thigh. Lovett committed the inches to memory and turned away quickly, to jot them down on his notepad.

“Intelligence gathering isn’t as exciting as you’d think,” Tommy said, quietly. The workshop light did neither of them any favors, leaving Tommy looking washed out and forlorn when Lovett turned back to him. “Mostly it’s being your own, unremarkable self and blending in with other bureaucrats.”

“Unremarkable?” Lovett said and looked down at the measurements. He hoped he wasn’t too obvious.

“Yeah. _You’d_ never stand a chance,” Tommy said, and Lovett thought he detected a hint of humour in his voice this time. “You blend in like a sore thumb.”

“Well, what about you?” Lovett replied and pointed the notepad at him. “You turn the color of a landing strip light as soon as you’re even a little out of sorts!”

As if on cue, a blush rose on Tommy’s cheeks, and Lovett grinned.

“Speaking of,” Lovett said, unable to stop himself. “If you would be so kind and strip down? I can make the adjustments on my own time.”

“All right,” Tommy said and reached up to slide the jacket over and off his broad shoulders. “When can I come by and pick them up?”

“You can come by anytime,” Lovett said, trying to sound like he didn’t mean it. “But I’ll have the clothes ready for you by tomorrow.”

* * *

Lovett usually didn’t indulge in his own fancies like this, but when he’d finished his work, he took one last look at it to make sure the buttons looked right and that the wear and tear looked authentic. No one in occupied France was wearing a new suit, even if it was custom made. The imitation tailor slip looked good enough to pass muster. Lovett wasn’t going to send Tommy in with a detail that would get him caught.

He dutifully filled in Tommy’s name and rank on the information tag that he set into the front pocket of the suit, so that it would find its rightful owner. Beside it, making sure it was hidden but wouldn’t be left behind when the tag was removed, Lovett slipped a small note.

 _He’ll get it,_ Lovett thought before he shut the lights and left for the night. He was never one for farewells. The note, which read “L’habit ne fait pas le moine” in Lovett’s chunky handwriting, would have to do.

 

**ii.**

* * *

“Well, see here,” Lovett said and pulled at Jon Favreau’s bag. “This zipper right here will have to be filed down, can’t have this British brand on it going to the continent. And the buttons on your coat, are they made of bone?

“I don’t know, are they?” Favs said, eyes big as he looked down at his own chest. He wasn’t going to the continent, of course, his job was to stay safe in Britain and maintain the Special Operations Executive radio connection to Europe, but he’d waltzed in with the apprentice tailors to get a word in with Lovett, and who was Lovett to not use him as a prop?

“Well, if they’re not-” Lovett said, breaking off as he heard the door to the workshop swing open. He turned to tell Mary off for being late, but stopped in his tracks when he saw who was standing in the doorway.

“Tommy!” Favs said, elated, and immediately walked over to pull him into a hug. Tommy hesitated for a fraction of second but then hugged him back, settling his arms around his shoulders and gripping him tight.

Lovett felt rooted to the spot, but he realized he had about a second and a half to pull himself out of it before anyone noticed. So he trailed after Favs, and when they broke off the hug, Tommy turned to Lovett with a careful smile on his lips.

“Can’t send you anywhere, can I?” Lovett said briskly and pulled at Tommy’s arm to check the patches at the elbow - he couldn’t tell if it was their work or if Tommy had worn out the fabric on his mission and had it repaired over there, which was the point, really. “Really, look at the state of your slacks!”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said, glancing down in a flutter of eyelashes. He had dark rings under his eyes, and Lovett turned his gaze down too. “Didn’t think it was that bad.”

“Well it is, but now that you’re here, you can serve as a warning example to my pupils here,” Lovett said and dragged him to the proverbial center stage. “Everyone, this is Tommy, and his suit here we had to make from fabric smuggled in from Europe.”

Lovett looked Tommy in the eyes when he reached up to tug the suit jacket off him. When he turned to let Lovett pull it down, he looked away, and Lovett breathed out.

Then he shook out the jacket and showed the lining to his apprentices. “This label we took from a jacket found in a second-hand shop if I remember correctly, but it was a real trick to find the right thread to sew it on. If you can’t find some from the right region, at least make sure it’s the right thickness.”

He handed it off to Trevor for inspection, and turned back to Tommy, this time keeping his gaze steadily chest-level. “The buttons, as I was saying,” he continued, though his voice wavered a little, “are made of plain bone, can’t go wrong with that. Except--”

He reached out and pulled at the suspender going across Tommy’s left shoulder. He let his finger slide down the length of it and landed on the lining of Tommy’s slacks. “We’ve stamped the suspender buttons with “mode de Paris” which is common on both German and French trousers.”

He could see several people in the audience nodding thoughtfully. He knew they knew the importance of getting every detail right, so he didn’t hammer home the point. He looked up at Tommy, ready to make a joke, but the words died on his tongue when he saw the bright flush to Tommy’s cheeks. Tommy didn’t like being the center of attention like him - of course he didn’t, what was Lovett thinking - and Lovett retracted his hand and cleared his throat.

“All right, the lot of you,” he said to the apprentices. “That’s all for today, I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early! But not too early, some of us need their beauty sleep.”

A smattering of polite laughter, and all of them started to gather their things and file out. Trevor handed Tommy his jacket back, and Tommy thanked him but didn’t put it on and instead turned it over until it was a bundle in his hands.

Soon Favs, Tommy and Lovett were the only ones left, Favs leaning against the wall by the door with his arms crossed and waiting for - something, Lovett supposed. He sucked in a breath and turned back to Tommy, once more looking him up and down. The shirt practically hung off his frame; he hadn’t been eating enough, but then again, none of them had.

“You’ve torn this shirtsleeve,” Lovett said and pulled at it, watching the threads doing their fruitless work of keeping the garment intact by the shoulder. “There’s no way it’ll mend right.”

“Lovett,” Tommy said, voice low. “I didn’t come here to get my clothes mended.”

“Well, why did you then? I still have your measurements from last time, if you want a new suit,” Lovett said. Tommy looked to Favs and then back to Lovett.

“I just-- it’s good to see you. Both of you,” he said and looked down on the jacket in his hands like he only now realized it was there. “I thought we could-- grab a bite, catch up.”

“Of course, Tom!” Favs said and straightened up from where he’d been leaning. “My treat - well, as much of a treat it can be, with ration stamps. You in, Lovett?”

“In, yeah,” Lovett said. He didn’t want to know what Tommy had been doing, and he had a feeling Tommy wouldn’t tell them. So much for catching up.

 

**iii.**

* * *

Life went on, even in war. That was the thing that kept surprising Lovett; how people just kept living their life, through the worst calamity in history. _Lovett_ kept living his life, which was the biggest surprise of all. In some way, he’d thought his life was over when he stepped on the boat to England.

But no, it kept chugging along, through taking cover from the Blitz and pulling the belt tighter because of the food shortages and seeing Favs grow quiet with the news from the continent. Lovett had made it this far and he was damned if he wasn’t going to see it through.

He just wished he could see Tommy through it too, but instead he had to be the one to see him off.

“You won’t tell me what your mission is, but, you know, I can tell that this is of German make,” Lovett said and shook the shirt at Tommy. “And they told me to scrounge up some Flemish fabric to make the suit, so I have a pretty good idea of where you’re headed, _Vietor.”_

There was a weak tug at the edge of Tommy’s mouth. Not quite a smile, but Lovett would take what he could get.

 _“Verdomme,”_ he said and settled against the wall, arms crossed.“Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“Nothing,” Lovett confirmed. “Now, get into it so I can have an idea of what adjustments I need to make.”

Lovett said what he said, and still he wasn’t quite prepared for Tommy to pull his uniform off right then and there, with all the self-consciousness that everyone who was in the army seemed to have, which was to say none. Unceremoniously, Tommy kicked off his pants to land on top of his shirt, and dressed in only socks and drawers, he stepped up to Lovett and reached for him.

When Lovett didn’t have the presence of mind to immediately hand him the clothes, Tommy grinned and said, “What, are you going to dress me?”

“Didn’t they teach you to dress yourself?” Lovett snapped, irritated at being caught off guard. He pushed the slacks at him first, so he wouldn’t have to look at the black band of Tommy’s sock garter against his calf, and busied himself with pulling out the jacket made of Flemish fabric.

When he turned back, Tommy was already carefully tucking his German shirt into the lining of his pants, and Lovett swallowed whatever was threatening to bubble up his throat and held out the jacket.

Tommy looked up, a flash of blue under translucent eyelashes, and Lovett could see the gears turn in his head as he regarded him. It lasted for only a split second, and Lovett didn’t dare presume what conclusion Tommy had reached, but Tommy turned and slipped his arm into the jacket sleeve that Lovett presented.

A neat little twist, and Lovett could pull up the jacket onto Tommy’s other shoulder as well - it was nearly instinctual to also pull the lapel into place, to smooth the fabric down across Tommy’s sides.

He wanted to believe he imagined the hitch to Tommy’s breath. Tommy stayed absolutely still while Lovett stepped back and looked him over.

“All right,” Lovett said, feeling oddly out of breath. “Well, the slacks are a bit wide, but I don’t think we need to do anything about it. Everyone’s wearing clothes a size too big these days. Now this jacket - the cut is pretty old-fashioned, nothing special. We’re going to have to age it of course, beat it into the sand for a bit...”

He trailed off as he reached for the pins, already calculating where to pull in the seam to make it follow Tommy’s waistline. Tommy breathed out, audibly, but said nothing.

The silence settled between them, so thick you could touch it, while Lovett worked. When he dipped down on one knee to pull up the hem of the pants, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“If they catch you in civilian clothes,” he said, taking care not to prick Tommy’s skin when he pinned up the fabric, “that means you won’t be a prisoner of war.”

“I know,” Tommy said, his voice nothing but a low murmur. “I’ll just have to see to it that they don’t catch me.”

Lovett was less careful with the next pin. Tommy twitched and protested, “Hey, ow!”

“That’s what you get, for trying to be clever!” Lovett said and got to his feet, dusting off his own slacks.

“I ought to leave that to you, is that it?” Tommy said wryly, clutching his leg, and Lovett made a face at him.

The silence came back with a vengeance as Lovett checked the jacket one last time, settling the lapel over Tommy’s chest and pulling it closed. He couldn’t bring himself to look Tommy in the eye either.

“Jon,” Tommy said, and Lovett, so he wouldn’t cry, set his forehead against Tommy’s chest.

Tommy said nothing more. He just breathed evenly, letting Lovett feel the steady thud of his heart, until Lovett managed to draw in a deep, shaky breath himself and straighten up.

“All right,” Lovett said with a voice that was considerably steadier than he’d anticipated. “I’ve got what I need. I’m sure you have things to do, so I’ll let you go, and besides, we need to dirty down the threads for you.”

“Thank you, Lovett,” Tommy said softly, and started to undress again. Lovett couldn’t bear to watch it, so he turned to the pile of Tommy’s uniform to sort it out for him. The pants could stand a good pressing, Lovett thought critically, but who had the time?

As Lovett shook out Tommy’s shirt from the pile, he noticed the brown stain on the sleeve, high up by the shoulder.

“Hey Tommy,” Lovett said and thumbed at the crusted fabric. “If you ever get blood on your clothes, you need to rinse it off with cold water, first thing.”

“All right,” Tommy said softly as Lovett handed the shirt to him and pushed the rest of the clothes his way.

“Actually,” Lovett said, when Tommy had finished putting the uniform back on and had already set his hand on the doorknob. “Just don’t get any blood on your clothes at all.”

That made Tommy smile, a real smile that creased his eyes. Lovett tried to smile back, but it wouldn’t quite stick.

“I won’t,” he said. Lovett could appreciate a man who lied to make him feel better.

 

**iv.**

* * *

It didn’t take long, after the end of the war, for Lovett to get his business in London in order. He would’ve hung around longer, if it weren’t for Favs who bought them both a ticket home as if to say “Don’t drag it out.”

Back in New York, life seemed at once more vibrant and somehow duller, like it was all happening at a speed Lovett couldn’t comprehend. Lots of guys had trouble readjusting, he knew, but Lovett hadn’t even been to the front.

But people still needed clothes. Lovett was hard at work, and the harder he worked the more he could almost convince himself he hadn’t left his heart on the other side of the Atlantic, in the pocket of someone who was probably-- well, Lovett didn’t harbor any illusions about what happened to those who were caught out of uniform on the wrong side of the front.

And Lovett had personally seen to it that Tommy wasn’t wearing a uniform when he went.

Favs had a habit of checking in on him often enough that Lovett wasn’t even surprised when the phone beside the shop counter rang at seven thirty p.m. and he picked it up to hear Favs say, “What are you still doing at work?”

“I have some things to finish up,” Lovett said and pinched the receiver between ear and shoulder as he kept marking up a hemline with chalk. “Besides, some people need to drop in after their work day to get things mended, it’s good business sense for me to be open late.”

A loud crackle over the line, Favs sighing. “You work too hard, Jon.”

“Well, Jon, I have bills to pay,” Lovett said. “It’s fine, I know a diner that keeps open even later than I where I can grab a bite after.”

“All right,” Favs said, softer. “How are you doing, you know, otherwise?”

“Otherwise?” Lovett repeated. “Otherwise, things are swell, Jon, wouldn’t you know. You can get fabrics in colors other than drab olive, for one!”

Favs laughed softly, and at that moment Lovett heard the bell above the door chime.

“Well, there you have it, I’ve got a customer,” Lovett said and set the fabric and the chalk down to be able to hang up the phone. “Talk to you later Favreau. Take care!”

“You too,” Favs said warmly, which made Lovett smile.

He hung up just as a voice behind him said, “Hi, Lovett.”

Lovett froze with his hand still on the phone. He must have been mistaken, talking to Favs had muddled up his thoughts, made him think of England and wartime, because it _couldn’t_ be--

“Jon?”

He breathed in, sharply, through his nose. He wasn’t mistaken, he’d know the smooth baritone of that voice anywhere, but he was afraid of turning around. He would live in this moment, with this uncertainty forever, rather than turn around and see everything irreparably dashed.

Then, a light touch to Lovett’s shoulder, and Lovett wondered, had Tommy ever touched him before or had it always been Lovett who touched Tommy? It made him turn around, finally, and look up at the man he thought had been lost to him.

“Tommy,” he said, with more reverence than anything he’d ever said in a synagogue.

Tommy smiled. He looked tired, with his hair curling over his high forehead and pronounced bruises under his eyes, but he was still the most beautiful thing in the world. He stood tall, still, with his posture making his threadbare suit look better than it was. Lovett swallowed.“I thought you were dead.”

“Well, I’m not,” Tommy said and, a little sheepishly, reached up to scratch his neck. “It just-- it took a while, for me to get back. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you’d better be sorry,” Lovett said, before he could stop himself. “You didn’t think to send word, huh? A telegram-- how much could the words ‘Not MIA’ cost? That’s six letters! Couldn’t spare the funds for letting your-- your friends know you weren’t dead in a ditch in the Netherlands somewhere?”

“I didn’t mean to-- I never thought-- I’m sorry for just dropping in like this,” Tommy said, the corners of his mouth turned downward and the slope of his shoulders unhappy. Lovett took a deep breath.

“I can handle you dropping in, dropping in is not the problem! The problem is I thought you were _dead--”_ Lovett broke off and grabbed Tommy by his shirt front - it was a good shirt, but Lovett didn’t care if he ripped it. “God, Tommy, just make me stop talking, please!”

“I missed your talking,” Tommy said. He leaned in and fit his hand carefully to the base of Lovett’s neck to tilt his head back with a thumb on his cheek. Lovett didn’t just let it happen, he went up on his toes, confident that Tommy would bear his weight, and kissed him on the mouth.

 

**epilogue**

* * *

“Far be it from me to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Lovett said and reached up to undo the top button of Tommy’s collar, “but are you sure you’re, uh, are you sure you want to step out with me like this?”

“I was more thinking we’d stay in,” Tommy murmured and pulled Lovett close, swaying them both back a step, further inside Lovett’s apartment.

“Oh, you were, were you?” Lovett said half-heartedly, distracted by the way Tommy nosed at his neck and made him shiver. “Well, I still think you could work on your wit, but I happen to agree, so I’ll let it slide.”

“How gracious of you,” Tommy said with a smile. His shoulder bumped into the doorframe to Lovett’s bedroom, which allowed Lovett to press up against him and kiss him again.

“How do you smell so good?” Lovett said, after kissing the birthmark on Tommy’s jawline. “I sure hope you didn’t stop to wash. If I hear you didn’t come straight from the boat--”

“Not straight from the boat,” Tommy replied, settling his hand on Lovett’s collar, thumb resting against skin. “I had to find out where your shop was.”

“How did you find out?” Lovett said, an uncomfortable little edge of curiosity poking through the haze of lust between them.

Tommy blinked and smiled down at him. “I worked in intelligence, remember? I’m good at finding things out.”

“All right, all right, no need to brag. Or sound so ominous,” Lovett said and pulled at Tommy’s collar. “May I strip you naked now?”

“You’ve never needed my permission before,” Tommy said. His grin made Lovett bold, and he undid several more buttons on Tommy’s shirt.

Lovett stepped back to pull the shirt over Tommy’s shoulder and let it slide down his arms. The sleeves caught around his wrists though, the cufflinks tight enough to keep them in place, and Lovett grabbed Tommy’s hand to undo them.

When he did, he lifted Tommy’s arm and his eyes caught on something, a mark in the soft, pale skin over Tommy’s rib cage. It was a scar, and Lovett could tell it hadn’t healed well. Angry dents in the skin showed the crude stitching, and the scar tissue itself was raised and red even though it looked to be long since healed.

One sleeve fluttered to the floor, and Tommy used his now free hand to undo the other cuff, apparently unaware of where Lovett’s attention had drifted. The white shirt fell to the floor in a heap.

Lovett wanted to say something, but for once he couldn’t find the words. He touched the mark lightly, and saw the shiver ripple across Tommy’s skin.

“That tickles,” Tommy said and caught Lovett’s hand in his own, put his elbow down over the scar to hide it. His voice had turned somber.

“What did I tell you?” Lovett said and pushed their joined hands against Tommy’s chest. “Didn’t I tell you not to get blood on your shirt?”

“Well, I did use cold water to get the stain out,” Tommy said, bashfully, and looked down between them. “I even managed to stitch up the tear--”

“Stop talking about the shirt, I don’t care about the shirt!” Lovett interjected and reached up to cup Tommy’s face. “I care about you not bleeding, for crying out loud!”

“Oh,” Tommy said and looked up again.

“Yeah,” Lovett said and pushed up on his toes to kiss him again. “Oh.”

“I felt bad about it,” Tommy said, when Lovett pushed him down on the bed, and braced his hands on the bedspread. “You always took such great care to dress me, and there I was, not two days in, with a great big hole in the shirt that I know took a lot of work to put together.”

“You’re still talking about the shirt,” Lovett chided him, and he settled in Tommy’s lap, one knee on either side of his hips, sliding his hands up his naked shoulders. “I can always make more shirts. In fact, if you don’t rip the buttons off the shirt I’m wearing right this second, there will be hell to pay, do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” Tommy said, and Lovett could hear the grin in his voice.

Tommy nudged his nose to Lovett’s and they leaned in for a kiss, deep and slow. Lovett didn’t know if he was more surprised or delighted when Tommy grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked, hard enough that a button clattered to the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> “L’habit ne fait pas le moine” - a French saying, figuratively “don’t judge a book by its cover”, but literally “The vestment does not make the monk”.
> 
> “Verdomme” - Dutch for “damn”.
> 
> The title is from this W.S. Merwin poem:
> 
> _Separation_
> 
> _Your absence has gone through me_   
>  _Like thread through a needle._   
>  _Everything I do is stitched with its color._
> 
> This entire thing came from me first reading [this article](https://daily.jstor.org/clothing-britains-spies-wwii/) and then seeing @baking-soda say [tinker tailor soldier spy au](https://baking-soda.tumblr.com/post/177458238432/this-is-a-super-interesting-article-about-glen), and I, who have never seen the movie or read the book, was like WHAT IF LOVETT is a TAILOR and TOMMY is a SPY in WARTIME EUROPE. Then it fell to the wayside because I was like “why would Tommy, an American, work as a secret agent in wartime Europe, he wouldn’t blend in anywhere” but then literally half a year later my third eye opened and I was like “VIETOR IS A DUTCH NAME, TOMMY COULD TOTALLY SPEAK DUTCH AND GO TO HOLLAND AND BE PART OF THE RESISTANCE; LET’S GO”
> 
> I don’t know how much sense it would make for a bunch of Yankees to work for a British intelligence agency like the SOE though, and apparently the SOE bungled things pretty bad in the Netherlands in particular, but handwaving history into a rich tapestry for fanfic purposes is what I do up here; thank you for reading.
> 
> So anyway, thank you, @baking-soda for the idea/brainstorming/keysmashing, thank you @salfarn and @laufarn for encouragement and workshopping scene iv, which @semperama also did in addition to betareading and providing valuable help. Thank you!!


End file.
